


You're For Keeps

by Reinamy



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, College, F/F, Porn with Feelings, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-14 20:52:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8028514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reinamy/pseuds/Reinamy
Summary: In which Mikasa bumps into a one-night stand.





	You're For Keeps

 

A shadow falls over Mikasa as she’s rummaging through her bag for a pen.

“Mind if I sit here?” the owner of the shadow asks. Her voice is low, almost inflectionless, and _familiar,_ though Mikasa can attach it to neither a face nor a name. She looks up, an agreement hovering on the tip of her tongue, only to swallow it back the moment her eyes meet the woman standing over her.  

Mikasa goes still, mind blanking before it becomes overwhelmed  by memories still fresh enough to smell and taste and _feel_ —beads of sweat sliding down flushed skin, light and dark hair swaying and tangling together, bruised lips parted and gasping for air and scorching breath ghosting over everywhere, shoulders and breasts  and hips and quivering, wet thighs—

She comes back to herself with a shiver in her spine and heat between her legs and has to force herself to look at the other woman as she _is_ , not as she _was_ , naked and pink and trembling as they—

 _Stop,_ Mikasa commands her brain, and to her relief it does, reluctantly pushing the memories somewhere they can’t easily be reached.

The woman—Annie, Mikasa remembers, trying not to think of the way she’d chanted it like a litany the night before—is staring down at her with a blankness that Mikasa strives to match. Were it not for a familiar tinge of pink on the other woman’s cheeks, Mikasa would have thought she’d been forgotten.

“Go ahead,” she says, tone betraying nothing. She stares at her bag as Annie slides into the seat next to her, hypersensitive to the noise being made, to the flashes of color she sees in her peripheral, to the reaching warmth of the body at her side.

She needs a distraction, so she continues searching for a pen, eventually giving up when she finds none. For a moment  she considers asking her new neighbor to borrow one but decides against it. It’s awkward enough.

“So are we going to pretend not to know each other or what?” Annie says suddenly, and Mikasa twitches at both the unexpectedness of the question and the question itself.

“Isn’t that what one night stands usually do?” she asks, eyes forward. “Not that I'm claiming to be an expert. I can’t say this has ever happened to me before.”

She feels eyes on her.

“Bumping into a one-night stand, or having a one-night stand to bump into?

Mikasa lets out a breath, tucks a tuft of fallen hair behind her ear, and admits, “The latter.”

“Virgin?” Annie asks levelly.

Mikasa scoffs. “Of course not.” Her eyes slide sideways, and she can’t help the stutter her heart gives when she meets Annie’s stare. Last night it had felt like a physical touch as it roamed over Mikasa’s bare skin, igniting embers to wherever it lingered. Mikasa’s throat dries at the memory.

“Ah. I’m not sure if I’m more disappointed or relieved, honestly,” she says, sounding genuinely perplexed, and Mikasa’s lip twitches. Annie notices and smiles.

“Annie Leonhardt,” she introduces herself, extending her hand. “Third year biology major.”

Mikasa clasps it, momentarily struck by how _tiny_ it is. She’d almost forgotten.

“Mikasa Ackerman. Second year Kinesiology major.”

“Nice to meet you properly, Mikasa.”

“You, too.”

Annie doesn’t let go of her hand, and Mikasa should do something about that, probably, but it feels nice. Warm and soft, and tingly where Annie’s thumb is gently brushing the knolls of her knuckles.  She glances at their entwined hands, then higher, to Annie’s crystal eyes, fanned by blond lashes that flutter lower with every passing second. As she watches, the swell of Annie’s cheeks darken, and Mikasa’s eyes drop to her mouth when the tip of her tongue sweeps her bottom lip, moistening it.

Annie’s grip goes tight and she releases a long, shaky breath. Her pupils are wide.  She leans forward—lips parted, lashes lowering, head beginning to tilt—and Mikasa...

Mikasa’s body moves as if it’s being drawn, blood cells and nerve endings reaching outward, heart straining against her chest with every frantic throb. Her eyes remain open, half-mast, wanting to _see_ for as long as she can, even when she’s close enough that she can smell the coffee on Annie’s breath, feel the fine wisps of her bangs brush her skin.

They’re so close now, barely inches between them, and Mikasa’s breath stops in anticipation even as a voice in her head demands _what the hell are you doing_ and—

The classroom door bangs open.

They spring apart.

“Good morning, class!” the professor sing-songs as she strides into the room, her heels clicking in time with Mikasa’s pounding heart. “I apologize for my tardiness; traffic was a bitch—uh, I mean traffic was _terrible_ this morning. It won’t happen again. Probably. Okay, real quick, let’s do roll call and then we can get this show on the road. Anyone want to volunteer to hand out the syllabi? No? Alrighty then, the twins sitting in the front row now have that dubious honor—thank you kindly.”

Mikasa focuses on the whirlwind of a woman—Zoe Hange, she recalls vaguely—as she tries to catch her breath and tame the wildness of her heart. There’s energy coursing just beneath her skin, and it takes everything she has not to fidget as she forces her body down from its rush to the peak.

She doesn’t dare look at Annie.

Roll call ends, and bit by bit the tension bleeds from her. She wishes she can say the same for the desperate ache between her legs, but knows from experience that that will take a bit longer. She only hopes that the way she’s squeezing her thighs together, seeking whatever relief it brings, isn’t noticeable to anyone but her.

Soon enough the professor begins scribbling notes on the board, and it isn’t until she tries to copy it down that she remembers she doesn’t have a pen.

Bracing herself, Mikasa turns to the woman beside her. “Do you mind if I borrow a…pen…” She trails off, her eyes falling and getting stuck on Annie’s mouth.  

Annie slides a ballpoint pen out from between her lips, wipes the glistening cap on her shirt, and then hands it to her, her gaze never straying from the front of the room.

Mikasa waits for disgust to come, but it doesn’t. Perhaps it tried to but the fire in her gut turned it to ash.

She clears her throat and takes it, whispering “Thanks,” in a rough tone she barely recognizes as her own. Their fingers brush, and she feels it straight down to her toes.

Annie, slouched forward and arms crossed atop the desk, inhales slowly and finally cranes her head to look at her.

Mikasa isn’t sure what compels her to do what she does next.

She lifts the pen to her mouth and without breaking eye contact slides the cap, still glistening wet, between her lips and _licks._

Annie makes a small strangled sound that has Mikasa rubbing her thighs together. She bites the inside of her cheek and forces herself to look away. It’s harder than she cares to admit. After a moment she re-opens her book, and with Annie’s pen, divides the page with a wobbly line and begins to compile a list of all the ways she can get the class prematurely cancelled on the left, and all the reasons why she shouldn’t do any of it on the right. 

 

* * *

 

 

She ends up not paying attention to Professor Hange’s lecture after all.

She and Annie hold a conversation through hastily scribbled notes in Mikasa’s notebook, passed between them whenever the professor’s back is turned.  It’s how she discovers that Annie, like her, shares an apartment downtown with her two childhood friends, both of them guys.

It would have put a dampener on things, but luckily Mikasa knows someone. Better, knows someone who owes her a _favor_. Halfway into class, she texts them to collect.

 

 **Ymir Bláinn:** are you srsly asking me to lend you mine and kristas room

 **Ymir Bláinn:** so you can fuck someone

 

 **Mikasa Ackerman:** You owe me.

 

 **Ymir Bláinn:** yeah and youre wasting it on a FUCK????

 **Ymir Bláinn:** do they have a massive dick or something?

 **Ymir Bláinn :** or clit

 **Ymir Bláinn :** massive clits are hot

 **Ymir Bláinn :** kristas is huge and its amazing

 **Ymir Bláinn :** tell her i told you that ill flay you alive fyi

 

 **Mikasa Ackerman:** Lend me your room for three hours and I won’t say a word.

 **Mikasa Ackerman:** Also, TMI.

 

 **Ymir Bláinn :** ugh fine whatever

 **Ymir Bláinn :** youve got til 4 then i need it back

 **Ymir Bláinn :** and youd fucking better launder our sheets afterward

 

 **Mikasa Ackerman:** Thanks, Ymir.

 

 **Ymir Bláinn :** yeah im a bro

 **Ymir Bláinn  :** you can thank me by sharing the deets later

 **Ymir Bláinn :** happy fucking  ;-)

 

Shaking her head, Mikasa slips her phone into her pocket and turns to Annie, unsurprised that the other woman is watching her from the corner of her eye.

Mikasa doesn’t beat around the bush. “Have any plans for after class?”

The pen that Annie’s twirling between her fingers goes still. She lowers it to her desk, and the small, anticipatory smirk that slowly unfurls across her face should probably frighten Mikasa a little. Instead, it just turns her on.

“Nothing that can’t be postponed,” she says, voice husky.

Mikasa nods once, then tries to tune in to whatever it is the professor is lecturing about it.

Needless to say, she fails.

 

* * *

 

Conveniently, Ymir lives in an apartment complex five blocks away from campus. Most people take twice that many minutes to get there, since the blocks in the area are long.

Mikasa and Annie get there in six minutes.

The second the door closes behind them, lock clicking shut under Mikasa’s fingers, they’re on each other, hands clumsy in their effort to touch everywhere they couldn’t until now and rough in their haste.

Mikasa has to bend to kiss Annie, even with the woman standing on her tiptoes, and she moans the instant their mouths slot together, teeth clanging painfully until they change the angle and it becomes a million times better. Mikasa shuts her eyes as hands thread through her hair, freeing it from its tail, and her own hands tighten over Annie’s waist, drawing her in as closely as she can.

Mikasa can smell the coffee on Annie’s breath, taste it on her tongue, and finds she doesn’t mind it as much as she should. Thinks that this is probably the closest she’ll ever come to liking the gunk.

And then Annie’s mouth breaks away to nip at the swell of her exposed collarbone and all thoughts of coffee flee her mind.

Her body is crackling with energy, frenzied and scorching as it sparks along nerve endings and heats the blood in her arteries and  veins. It’s inside her and around her, an electrical storm swelling to consume the both of them. She lets it, pushing Annie against the door hard enough to _feel_ but not enough to hurt, memories of last night—of the sounds Annie made whenever Mikasa got rough—like an echo in her ears.

Annie doesn’t disappoint—she groans, a low, guttural sound that’s cut off by a gasp when she finds herself being lifted. Mikasa’s hands grip the underside of her thighs, then her ass, and hoists her up.

“Fuck,” Annie says, wrapping her legs around Mikasa’s waist and thrusting against her, seeking friction and finding none if the frustrated noise that escapes her means anything.

“Hang on,” Mikasa says, and firming her hold on Annie, begins walking the two of them further into the apartment. It shouldn’t be so easy but it _is._ The woman is _tiny,_ not just in height but in size, slim in a way that makes Mikasa feel bulky in comparison and feather light. Imagining how they must look now, how they will look _later—_ naked and tangled together, the disparity in their sizes that much more pronounced—almost makes her knees buckle.  

They pass the living room. For a brief moment the small couch tempts her,  but she reigns in the tatters of her fraying patience and forces herself to walk past. Cold wood tiles give way to soft rug as they enter a hallway. She uses her shoulder to shove the bedroom door open and closes the distance between them and the bed in three long strides. She releases her hold, and Annie falls with a bounce.  

“Take off your clothes,” Annie orders, already in the process of undressing, and Mikasa obeys, hands moving faster than she ever thought them capable of as she pulls her blouse over her head and shimmies out of her skirt. Her fingers slip into the elastic of her panties, ready to peel them off, but Annie stops her.

“Don’t,” she says, stripped down to her underwear and so devastatingly _gorgeous_ that Mikasa doesn’t even know where to _begin_ to look. “I want to do it.”

Mikasa looks away from Annie's chest, modest behind a checker-patterned bra, and quirks a grin at her. She removes her hand and joins her on the bed.  It dips from their combined weight,  springs squeaking and sheets crinkling as she crawls to the center. Annie moves to meet her.

Strangely enough, the first thing Annie does when she’s close enough is splay her hands over Mikasa’s stomach.

“I’d almost forgotten about these,” she murmurs, likely referring to her abs. Which is flattering, but Mikasa would really prefer to have those hands elsewhere.

As if Annie reads the thought from her mind, she glides her hands up and up, over the dip of her navel and the slopes of her ribs, and higher, to the underside of her breasts. Mikasa shivers when warm fingers brush their sides, sensitive even through a layer of satin. She stops stroking Annie’s hips and places her hands over hers instead, guiding them to where she wants them most.

“So impatient,” Annie murmurs, yet her hands still reach behind Mikasa’s back to unclasp the hooks. The bra comes undone, and Annie eases the straps down her arms and tosses it off the bed. Mikasa releases the breath she’s holding when those tiny hands come up to cup her breasts. At first the touch is soft. Annie holds them in her palms as if to memorize the weight of them, the feel, and then she squeezes,  fingers closing firmly over her nipples until Mikasa’s gasping and arching her back.

Mikasa allows herself to be lowered onto the bed, arms circling Annie’s neck to bring her down with her. Their kiss is nothing like the one they shared at the doorway. It’s slow-burning, their tongues sliding languidly together and teeth a part of it rather than in the way. It’s the sort of kiss that can go on for hours if both parties let it, but they don’t. The heat between them builds, goes from a candle flame to a bonfire in seconds, and it doesn’t take long for Mikasa to grow frustrated with the pace they’re moving. The hands massaging her feel good, but it isn’t _enough._ She’s aching at the core. She tries slipping a hand between their bodies just to get the edge off, but Annie stops her with a hand around her wrist.

“Don’t,” she says against Mikasa’s mouth.

“Then _do something_ ,” Mikasa snaps.

Annie swings her leg over Mikasa, brackets her thighs, and strokes her belly with both hands. They’re so close to where Mikasa wants—no, _needs_ them to be that she has to bite back a groan of frustration. She cants her hips upward, _pointedly_ , and those hands drop lower until they’re skimming the edge of her underwear, oscillating between satin and skin. They don’t go further.

“If looks could kill,” Annie says, smirking down at her.

Mikasa’s patience _snaps_. She bucks her hips, intent to shove Annie off so she can pull of her panties _herself_ , when a finger digs into the clothed apex  of her sex and slides down, electrifying her. Both her breath and body seizes, and Annie smirks wider and does it again, harder this time, almost enough to hurt. Mikasa’s head falls back and she pants.

“You’re so wet,” Annie tells her in a voice that sounds like it’s unravelling at the seams. “I’ve barely touched you and you’re already soaked through. Just _look_ at this.”

Mikasa isn’t sure whether she’s meant to obey or not, but still she lifts her head.

And promptly wishes she didn’t.

Annie presses down on where she’s spread and lifts her hand, and there’s just enough sunlight peeking through the curtains to see the glistening threads of liquid that cling to her fingers. Mikasa flushes with embarrassment. It doesn’t last long. Annie crawls further down her legs until her face is hovering over Mikasa’s crotch, and when she tongues at her clit through her panties the lust that burns through her extinguishes everything else.

Mikasa’s sweat is kerosene and Annie’s tongue is the drag of a match, setting her body _aflame._ She almost snarls when the woman pulls away, until hands start tugging at her underwear and she realizes that they’re being taken off. She lifts her hips to help them along. The panties share the same fate as her bra, flung to some far corner of the room, but Mikasa can’t even pretend to care—not when Annie is spreading her thighs apart and lowering her face again. The whisper of hot breath against her bare skin  makes Mikasa gasp. She can actually _feel_ herself leaking. She takes a moment to pray that she doesn’t soak through the sheets to the mattress, and then a tongue flicks her clit and she’s incapable of caring about anything else at all.

Hands kneading her thighs, Annie lifts her head to lock gazes with Mikasa, and without breaking eye contact takes her between her lips and _sucks._

Mikasa’s arms give out, and she stares up at the pebbled ceiling, mouth open in a silent moan.

Time passes in a blur of lips and tongue and teeth and white-hot suction. Annie _ravages_ her—there’s no other word for it—eating her out like Mikasa’s a meal and she’s been starving for years. The sounds she emits—loud slurping and squelching noises that Mikasa can hear even over her own panting and the pounding of her heart—are _obscene._ She can only hope that the walls in this room aren’t as thin as they look.

At one point she’d tried to keep quiet, pressing her forearm against her mouth to muffle the sounds being torn from her throat, but Annie had just doubled her efforts, clearly displeased. She abandoned Mikasa’s clit to suck on the tender flesh just beneath it, slid two crooked fingers into her, and began thrusting them so quickly against the sensitive spot inside of her that Mikasa _screamed,_ both hands clenching the sheets in a desperate attempt to keep her from flying apart.

There’s three fingers inside of her now, rotating as they plunge, and Mikasa feels like she’s coming apart at the edges. The burn of the stretch, the wet-hot suction on her flesh, the scrape of blunt nails against her sensitive lips—all of it contributes to the wave that’s building inside of her, starting from her curled toes and rising until it crests, and Mikasa is almost there, she’s so close she can feel her body tensing in preparation for it, muscles and joints going taut as Annie’s fingers and mouth and tongue bring her to the very edge—

“Don’t stop,” she gasps, every inch of her shaking so strongly she fears she might shatter. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, please, I’m almost there—”

Teeth scrape against her, just the smallest amount, and her chanting peaks to a scream that the neighbors _definitely_ hear, thin walls or not.

White dances before her vision as her orgasm tears through her, body seizing from the overwhelming force of it. Annie pulls away, and Mikasa doesn’t know if she’s grateful for the reprieve of her touch or not. There’s little time to consider it—not that she currently has the mental capacity to do so—because within moments she’s being maneuvered, her left knee bent and lifted as Annie slots herself between her legs.

“Wait—” Mikasa gasps, because she’s still throbbing from sensitivity, but her words flat-line to a low moan when Annie presses their sexes together and begins to move.

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ,” the woman pants, gripping Mikasa’s leg tight enough to bruise as she grinds against her. Mikasa is helpless to do anything but gasp at the overstimulation, unsure if it hurts more than it feels good, if she wants to tell Annie to stop or beg her not to.

When a tell-tale tightness makes itself known in the pit of her stomach, she closes her eyes, props herself onto an elbow, and grinds back. Annie’s breath stutters at the increased pressure, so Mikasa does it again and again and again, gyrating her hips and pressing down until Annie’s gasping for oxygen like there isn’t enough in the room.

There aren’t words for how good this feels—Annie searing and slick and pulsing against her, so wet Mikasa can feel the woman’s release dribbling down her backside, and growing wetter still with every desperate pass against each other. Every cleverly-angled grind.

She knows when Annie comes from the way her gasps taper off to a low, tortured groan and she trembles so hard that Mikasa shakes from it.

Mikasa doesn’t pull away, not even when Annie whines from the stimulus. Her second orgasm is _right there_ , so close she can feel the vibrations of its echo on her fingertips and toes, so close so close so close, just a little bit more, just—

“ _Oh god,_ ” she cries as it slams through her, twice the strength of the first, and she lets loose a sob of pleasure-pain as her thighs instinctively clamp together, creating unwanted friction from where Annie is still twitching, attached.

For a long moment all Mikasa can hear is the thundering of her heart in her ears. It softens, eventually, and when she feels like she can move again without crumbling in on herself like a sandcastle she draws away from Annie, her arms trembling in their effort to keep her upright, and drops bonelessly beside her. Without thinking she extends an arm, inviting, and Annie collapses heavily against her, warm and sweaty and still quaking from her release.

Later, when they’ve both come down from their highs and have the wherewithal to do so, they begin to plan.

“How long do we have left?” Annie mumbles, curled against Mikasa and still smelling of coffee despite the heady scent of sweat and sex that clings to her skin.

Mikasa pauses in the motion of brushing aside Annie’s damp bangs and glances over her shoulder to the glowing alarm clock sitting on the nightstand.

“About two and a half hours,” she says, settling back down.

Annie hums. “That’s good. I’m not done with you yet.”

Mikasa smiles.

Annie’s  fingers trail up and down her sides, every so often dipping sideways to cup her breasts. She doesn’t play with them, like Mikasa expects her to, and instead just holds them, as if she likes the heaviness of them in her palm. It’s…a surprisingly intimate gesture, one Mikasa thinks she should feel uncomfortable by considering she doesn’t even really _know_ this woman, but honestly, she can’t muster up the energy to care.

It doesn’t hurt that it feels really, really nice.

“Same,” Mikasa sighs, closing her eyes.

Annie exhales, and her legs, tangled with Mikasa’s, become tense.

“We should go out for coffee tomorrow, as well,” she adds, nonchalant.              

Mikasa turns her smile into Annie’s hair. “I don’t like coffee.”

That seems to startle her. The woman shoots up, dislodging Mikasa, and demands, “You don’t like _coffee_?”

Mikasa thinks of the coffee scent that clings to the woman as if it were bottled and sprayed on. She smirks up at her and says, “I’m sure you like it enough for the both of us,” then pats the empty space beside her purposefully.

Annie snorts but obligingly lays back down. “Seriously, who doesn’t like _coffee_?”

 _She’s going to get along great with Armin_ ,  Mikasa thinks, and the thought takes her by surprise. She’s getting _way_ ahead of herself, which isn’t like her at all.

Unnerved, she refocuses her attention to the present.

“Are you rescinding your earlier proposal then?” she asks.

“I’m not that petty. Even if you do have shit taste.”

Mikasa pinches her side, pleased when Annie squirms and stifles a laugh.

“Weren't you trying to persuade me to go out with you?”

After swatting at her, Annie goes back to playing with Mikasa’s hair. She curls a dark wave around her finger and gently tugs on it.

“I just gave you two orgasms. I’m not sure how much more persuasive I can get.”

Annie pushes  herself onto an elbow, then shifts so that her face is hovering inches from Mikasa’s. Her pale blue eyes are hooded with arousal. One of her eyebrows is raised.

Mikasa cups her cheek with gentle fingers and  pulls her down for a kiss, willing to concede the point.

 

_**F** **in** _

 

**Author's Note:**

> Oops, I've descended another level of rarepair hell. OTL
> 
> So! Not only is this my first femslash fic, but it’s the smuttiest thing I’ve written in _years_. Needless to say, I’m _really_ out of practice. I'm crossing my fingers that it turned out okay. 
> 
> Anyway, thanks so much for reading my first Mikannie fic! Comments are super appreciated, as always. ♥


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